


Changing Like The Current

by sealdog



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: (aka frank smokes weed), M/M, Recreational Drug Use, mention of frank/maria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 08:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16446119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealdog/pseuds/sealdog
Summary: “I’m bored, Frank. We’ve got a day and a half left. Don’t tell me you’re gonna just spend it lying there lazing around.” Billy’s hand goes back to petting at Frank’s chest, fingers teasing against the sweat-slick skin.“Wrong,” Frank answers, the words muffled beneath his own arm. “I’m gonna spend it lazing around and smoking weed.” He rolls over onto his front, knocking Billy’s hand away as he goes. “And drinking beer,” he adds, rearranging his arms to cushion his head. “That’swhat I call a vacation.”---Frank and Billy spend their leave in Kandahar in a hotel room.(They fuck.)





	Changing Like The Current

**Author's Note:**

> For [lelelego](http://lelelego.tumblr.com), who kills me dead w her art every time. I hope you like it buddy!! :^) Even though it's like half a year late :^(
> 
> Thank u michelle aka [nothingbutchaff](http://nothingbutchaff.tumblr.com) aka [wheatfromchaff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheatfromchaff) for the amazing beta work, and for always killing me w ur fic. No ice cold boners over here, thanks to u.

“Frank.” Billy’s voice is scratchier than his usual purr, rough with sleep. “Fraaaank,” he says again, dragging out the vowel in Frank’s name like salt water taffy.

Frank grunts, but doesn’t bother to sit up or actually reply. It’s too hot for replies. He thinks it’s possible that his brains have melted, turned to gritty goo in the dry, burning heat of Kandahar. The rickety fan in the corner of the hotel room that they’d paid an additional USD$50 for -- “We’re being cheated,” Billy had murmured as Frank handed his card over, but Frank didn’t _care_ , because this was the last time they’d get to do this -- finally oscillates back in their direction, sending a wave of slightly cooler air over his sweat-sticky body. It’s barely a relief, but it’s better than nothing. Then the fan oscillates away, leaving Frank sweating all over again.

“Frank.” Billy’s voice again. Wheedling, persuasive. Frank can’t be bothered to move his arm over where it’s flung over his face to look over at Billy, but he knows exactly what he’d see if he did. Billy’s big dark eyes, wide and guileless.

A hand lands on Frank’s stomach, and he tenses up instinctively before relaxing. It always takes him a few days to get used to not being constantly on edge. To be able to stay relaxed. And then by that time, their leave is up, and it’s back to the front. Kind of ridiculous, but Frank doesn’t know what he’d do without it. If anybody in their squad would be able to go back to it permanently, it’d be Billy, the slick motherfucker.

Billy’s long fingers splay out over Frank’s stomach, distracting him. They dig into the muscles of his abdomen almost painfully. Frank tenses up again, on purpose this time, showing off. The appreciative hum that Billy lets out sends tendrils of heat down Frank’s spine. A different kind from the desert scorch of Kandahar. A good kind, one that curls Frank’s toes and makes him want to bare his neck.

Billy’s hand wanders, musician’s fingers tapping out their own rhythm over Frank’s stomach, his chest. Fingernails trailing like a promise over nipples that are already beginning to prickle into hardness. Billy’s hand tickles, but Frank doesn’t move away.

He shifts his arm, just enough to crack open one eye, and squints up at Billy, who’s crouching next to where Frank’s laid out on the floor.

Billy’s naked. They both are, because the heat is frankly ridiculous, even for Kandahar. Billy’s posture is all relaxed; elbows resting on his knees, head tilted and resting on a loosely curled fist as he watches Frank with a lazy grin. He _looks_ untouched by the heat, all cool black half-lidded gaze and the kind of smile Frank’s gramma would say butter wouldn’t melt in. The only sign of his being affected by the heat is the barest sheen of sweat at his temples and hairline.

Slick motherfucker, Frank thinks once again. The thought is fond, more than he’d ever say out loud.

It must show on his face though, because the distant look in Billy’s eyes sharpen, and Frank’s struck all over by the laser intensity that is the full force of Billy’s dark gaze. The desert-bright sunlight turns them just the faintest shade lighter than usual, making them the deepest, richest brown Frank has ever seen instead of solid black.

Frank had once heard Morty describe Billy’s eyes as blacker than sin and deeper than a pit in hell. It’d been said in jealousy -- Billy had, once again, charmed one of Morty’s potential hookups away and into the back alley of the bar they’d gone to drink at -- but Frank thinks Billy would have been flattered if he’d heard.

“Frank,” Billy says again, voice low and crooning.

Frank covers his face with his arm again, and tries to tamp down the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” he grumbles, but they both hear the lack of actual resistance in it. “S’too hot, Bill. Fuck off.”

One of Billy’s thumbs rub deliberately across Frank’s left nipple. He bites back the sound that threatens to come out. This is a waiting game, and Frank’s willing to play along, even they both know Billy always wins.

“I’m bored, Frank. We’ve got a day and a half left. Don’t tell me you’re gonna just spend it lying there lazing around.” Billy’s hand goes back to petting at Frank’s chest, fingers teasing against the sweat-slick skin. Always the carrot with the stick, and Frank can’t help but respond to it like he always does.

“Wrong,” Frank answers, the words muffled beneath his own arm. “I’m gonna spend it lazing around and smoking weed.” He doesn’t bring up the fact that they would have more than just two days, if Billy would stay. Instead, he rolls over onto his front, knocking Billy’s hand away as he goes. “And drinking beer,” he adds, rearranging his arms to cushion his head. “ _That’s_ what I call a vacation.”

Billy scoffs. Frank hides his grin against his forearm, and waits.

The only warning he gets is the feeling of the air shifting, and then Billy’s bare thighs are sliding against his own. Frank lets out an exaggerated _oof_ as Billy moves to straddle him, and is rewarded with a slap to his ass.

Billy’s long legs are slick with sweat, sticky against Frank’s and catching against the sensitive hair there. Frank can feel fresh sweat already beading on his skin where Billy’s legs are flush against his thighs, bare skin to bare skin. It should be gross, and it kind of is, but in a way that makes Frank’s blood heat more than the weather ever could.

“But we could be fucking,” Billy says, voice chipper and bright, as his hands move over Frank’s back, not lightly enough to be teasing, but sure as hell not hard enough to be a massage. Just skating across the skin, rubbing small circles in random places.

Frank can feel Billy’s cock resting against the back of his thighs. It’s not hard, not yet, but it’s on its way there. Frank can sympathise.

“In this heat? Fuck that shit,” Frank replies, and adjusts his arms to make a more comfortable headrest. If it also happens to flex his shoulders and provide a nice view of all those muscles he’s worked so hard at the gym for...That’s just a bonus. “I’m already sweating my balls off, I don’t needa sweat the cock off as well.”

“Mmn,” is Billy’s reply. “That’d be a pity.”

The buzzing of the fan in the background lends a muted quality to the air, though Frank can hear the faint murmur of the market outside, more than four floors down. Behind him, he can hear Billy’s measured breaths, slow and steady.

It’s strange, the way even Billy’s _breathing_ is enough to spark a low simmering heat of desire in Frank’s gut. Maybe ‘strange’ isn’t the word. Ridiculous, perhaps. Frank’s not a young man; he’s not old, not yet, even if the ache in his bones when the weather gets cold feels otherwise, but he’s not an adolescent teenager anymore, always ready to rub one out. But with Billy...

“I wanna fuck you,” Billy says, sweet purring voice scraping down Frank’s spine, words like jolt of adrenaline straight through Frank’s system. “Let me fuck you, Frankie. One last time.”

Frank thinks about saying no, about making Billy work for it. But that’s more Billy’s way of playing than his. Where’s the fun in dragging things out when he can get what he wants, right now? And what he wants is for Billy to fuck him, _hard_. One last fuck before he goes back.

“Lube’s still on the bed, and I ain’t getting up for it,” Frank mumbles, and buries his head more firmly into his arms.

“It’s so hot, I don’t wanna get up though,” Billy says. And to punctuate his point, he lies down, draping himself across Frank’s back. The sticky heat of his body presses down, heavy, comforting, stifling all at once. His long limbs splay over Frank’s, bones digging into Frank’s flesh. Fucker’s still too skinny, even with all the muscle he’s put on since their training days. Christ, he’d been a walking noodle back then. Now he’s put on muscle, enough that Frank can’t call him a beanpole anymore. Not that it stops Frank.

Frank can feel the tickle of Billy’s fringe (kept longer than regulation, because Billy is a vain motherfucker) against his cheek as Billy rubs his face into Frank’s hair. The cat-like nuzzle is about as affectionate as Billy gets, and Frank feels a pang of fondness sweep through him.

He turns his head, just enough to get the faintest scrape of Billy’s stubble against his cheek.

“Get the lube,” he says, the words puffing out against Billy’s mouth like a kiss. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Billy goes very still, and then Frank hears Billy let out the faintest frustrated snarl before Billy’s weight disappears, followed by the sound of skin against cloth as Billy goes for the lube. The skin of Frank’s back goosebumps in the wake of Billy’s departure. Frank laughs into his arms, and hitches his hips a little, enjoying the pressure.

He feels Billy’s return as two hands against the back of his thighs. Billy’s fingers aren’t gentle; they dig painfully into flesh as he yanks Frank’s legs apart. Frank puts up only the most token of resistance, laughter still bubbling from his lips as he lets Billy manhandle him.

Billy has nice hands. Pianist’s fingers, and the palms to match. The kind that belong in a museum, captured in pencil or in marble for all the world to ogle. Last time Frank’d been to a museum, it’d been with Maria. They’d been dating, and he’d been trying to impress her with how cultured he was. He barely remembers anything about the art, too distracted with trying cheesy line after cheesy line and then stealing kisses while she’d spluttered and laughed. What he does remember are half-naked statues, marble fingers clutching at marble flesh that looked eerily lifelike. He doesn’t remember which section the statues were in, but he remembers pointing them out to Maria, and making a dirty joke about being as hard as--

Billy’s fingers, very much flesh and not marble, _twist_ , sending a jolt down Frank’s spine. A filthy moan spills from his lips, and he has to clench his fists against the floor to prevent any further sounds.

“Let it out.” Billy follows it up with a bite to Frank’s shoulder, teeth digging in and making Frank’s spine arch. “I wanna hear everything.”

Frank shakes his head, eyes squeezed tight and fingernails digging into his own palm as he pushes back against Billy, feels Billy’s cock twitching against the back of his thigh.

“Gonna--” He bites back another sound as Billy’s fingers find the perfect spot inside him. “Gonna have to work for it, Billy boy.”

Never mind the fact that his words come breathlessly, or that Frank’s cock is so hard he’s sure that a few strokes from Billy is all it’d take. He says it to hear Billy snarl behind him, the sound muffled against Frank’s skin. To feel the urgency in Billy’s movements, the way Billy’s fingers curl inside him with renewed purpose.

When Billy enters him, Frank has to scrabble against the floor or risk collapsing entirely. Billy doesn’t let up, and Frank laughs, and then groans as one of Billy’s hands presses between his shoulders, shoving him face-down to the floor none too gently.

Held against the floor like that, Billy’s weight pressing down and Billy’s cock filling him up, Frank can’t do anything but hold on for the ride as Billy fucks him hard and fast, the way they both like it. The position Billy holds him in makes the muscles of his back ache, but he arches back anyway, pushing past the burn to shove back against Billy. When Billy comes, it’s with a bitten off moan and a hand clutched tightly enough on Frank’s hip that Frank _knows_ , with a deep stab of satisfaction, that there’ll be marks lingering tomorrow. He waits for Billy to continue, but Billy doesn’t _do_ anything, just pants raggedly against Frank’s shoulder, slowly softening cock still buried in Frank.

“Done already?” Frank asks when his patience runs out. It runs out fairly quickly, but given that he’s about two strokes from coming, he doesn’t think he can be blamed for being impatient. He shoves back against Billy impatiently. “C’mon, I’m still waiting here.”

Behind him, Billy lets out a little huff. That’s all the warning Frank gets before Billy’s sitting up, and Frank’s flipped over to lie on his back.

Billy crawls up Frank’s body, pressing kisses against his stomach and chest as he goes. Tiny little kisses, peppered with nips that send little shocks of arousal through Frank. When he comes face to face with Frank, he grins. It’s sharp, because Billy’s never _not_ sharp, but the usual knife edge is worn a little blunter than usual with satisfaction. His dark eyes are crinkled up, and his smile is a dark red slash as he bends down to kiss Frank on the mouth.

Frank returns the kiss, but wraps his legs around Billy’s midsection and tightens them when it looks like Billy’s content with just kissing. He breaks away to say, “Seriously? You gonna leave me hanging?”

Billy sits up, pulling away. His hands come to rest on Frank’s thigh, and one slips further down to palm at Frank’s still-hard cock.

“Maybe,” he says, and tightens his hand.

Frank arches into his touch, gasping. He’s so close to coming it’s almost physically painful. His cock twitches, precome swelling from the tip to glaze against Billy’s fingers.

“More,” he demands, planting his hands above his head and thrusting up into Billy’s touch. “C’mon, asshole, _move_.”

And Billy does, thank fuck, because Frank thinks he might actually go crazy. Might lose it and just grab Billy, yank him down and fuck his clever, beautiful mouth.

Which is now making its way down Frank’s body, leaving a trail of wet heat down Frank’s stomach, along his inner thigh, and--

He’s expecting it on his cock, so when Billy’s mouth skates by with only the faintest kiss pressed to the base of his cock before dipping lower, past his balls, Frank’s taken completely by surprise.

The sound that he makes is embarrassing, and he immediately flings an arm to cover his face, gritting his teeth against any further sounds.

Billy’s laugh tickles against Frank’s skin, the puff of warm air against his hole making him whine through his teeth.

“Told you I’d get you to scream.” Billy’s voice is very smug. Frank would punch his face, if he could. But he can’t, because Billy’s mouth is on him, hands tight on Frank’s ass, pulling him open and holding him in place as Billy takes Frank apart with fingers and tongue.

Frank doesn’t _scream_ when he comes, but it’s close.

After, when they’re both wrung out from round three, possibly four, and the late afternoon sun paints the room in golden colours, Frank makes a decision.

“Stay,” he says, and immediately feels uncomfortable with the way the word falls into the room, quiet and almost pathetic sounding. The room isn’t silent; the sounds from outside make a constant background noise, but it suddenly feels heavy. He clears his throat, and tries again, eyes fixed onto the ceiling.

“One more deployment.” He tracks the movement of a passing bus in the low roar of an engine outside. “One more, and I’ll leave with you. Maria’s been making some noise about settling down anyway.”

Next to him, Billy’s so silent Frank doesn’t even know if he’s still breathing. He turns his head to check, feeling the wooden floor scratch against his scalp.

Billy’s on his back, face turned away from Frank. His breaths come slow, but Frank knows he’s not sleeping. At least, he thinks so. He waits, suddenly feeling like this whole thing was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve just left it. Maybe he was fucking up Billy’s last leave. Maybe Billy was never going to stay anyway.

Frank exhales, and sits up.

“Forget it,” he says, and stands up with a stretch and a groan. “Where’s the weed? Don’t tell me you hid it...”

Billy doesn’t reply as Frank rummages through their duffels. Nor does he reply as Frank rolls one out, and lights it up. He exhales, and sprawls out onto the bed to stretch, feeling it work its way into his system. If Billy wasn’t gonna reply, that was fine too. Maybe he was asleep after all. They _had_ pretty much spent all day fucking.

When Billy’s voice comes, low and scratchy, Frank’s buzzed enough that he doesn’t jump, but it takes him a while to focus on what Billy’s saying.

“I’ve got plans in place already,” Billy says, each word coming out like he’s testing it before letting it out of his mouth. “People I’ve already contacted, things like that.”

“Yeah, no, I gotcha.” Frank takes another lungful, and exhales it in a stream. “Billy the beaut’s got the brains to back it up, yeah. Got your stuff all planned out.”

“You said you weren’t leaving.” Billy’s voice is terser now, and Frank really regrets bringing it up at all.

He rolls off the bed to land on the floor with a grunt, careful not to drop his joint, and crawls over to straddle Billy, who’s still lying on the floor. At least Billy’s watching him now, though there’s the faintest crease between his brows that Frank really doesn’t like the look of.

“Yeah, forget I said it,” Frank says, and takes another hit. He leans down, and waits for Billy to part his lips before sealing his own over Billy’s in a kiss. When he pulls away, the smoke spills out between their faces, masking the force of Billy’s gaze.

As the smoke clears, Frank takes one last pull of his joint, and flicks it off in the direction of the table. He gives Billy a wide, leering grin, and shifts to move his ass pointedly over Billy’s hips.

“So, you up for another round?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://ssealdog.tumblr.com), hate reblogging jon bernthal and ben barnes pics.
> 
> Title from Florence + The Machine's "Make Up Your Mind", which is kind of the Billy b-side of what's going on, in a way :^)


End file.
